


The Angel in the Marble

by sasuke69



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical AU, M/M, alternate universe- rennaisance, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasuke69/pseuds/sasuke69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein didn't believe in love at first sight. He wasn't even sure he believed in love. He was still young and very much so invested in his career, that he was not interested in seeking companionship in another. But when he saw him standing there, even in his rough and forgotten state, Jean Kirstein fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel in the Marble

**Author's Note:**

> It's an Italian Renaissance AU my friends. Sculptor!Jean Muse!Marco   
> I'll update this eventually.

Jean Kirstein didn't believe in love at first sight. He wasn't even sure he believed in love. He was still young and very much so invested in his career, that he was not interested in seeking companionship in another. But when he saw him standing there, even in his rough and forgotten state, Jean Kirstein fell in love. 

Standing at over five meters, Jean could see why the enormous block of marble was called a giant. He found it blasphemous that such a gem was left neglected for over 25 years, and he knew he had to be the one to bring him to completion. 

Initially, he thought that gaining the commission would be the hardest part, but with his unparalleled experience with the material and his constant pestering, the Operai had agreed that he deserved it. But once he got up close and personal with his medium, he realized just how wrong he had been. This block of marble was huge. It wasn't like he had never worked with pieces that were larger than him, but this was on a whole new scale. All of the confidence he had when he was trying to get the commission immediately disappeared when he was staring into the face of the five meter beast with a chisel in his hand. 

Or at least it was where he thought the man's face was meant to be. Others before Jean had been commissioned to work on the enormous piece, but they had only gotten as far as to begin the sculpting on the legs and roughing out the torso before abandoning the project. When he gazed into the white stone in front of him, Jean could almost see the sorrow in the eyes of the man he was destined to sculpt. Or maybe it was the apathy. But he was sure it should be determination. And that was the real issue. It wasn't the sheer mass of material in front of him that frightened Jean beyond belief. It was the uncertainty in continuing the work of another. The fear of disappointing the expectations of those who had began the masterpiece before him. He wasn't sure where to begin, and even more so, he wasn't sure what would be in front of him in the end. 

That thought terrified Jean. When he sculpted late into the night, sweat pouring down his body and his hands aching from hours of work, that was the one thing that kept him going. Kept him grinding away until his hands bled and he was near passing out from exhaustion. The end product. The light at the end of the tunnel. He couldn't see it here. Not when so many hands before him had touched it, and in doing so, imparted the work with a piece of their soul. Jean could never remove their hours of work, their visions, from the sculpture, so it would never fully contain his soul and his soul alone. The light at the end tunnel was not his light alone; he was unable to see it. 

It had been almost two weeks, and Jean had yet to lay a finger on his charge. It was eating at him, tearing him apart. It was rare for the young sculptor to go even more than a day without working on something, but he couldn't keep his current dilemma out of his thoughts long enough to attempt to take up work on his other projects. 

Jean needed to clear his head quickly before the Operai saw his inactivity as a sign that he had also given up on the giant. Which is how he found himself on a stroll around town. The day was pleasant, and being out of the workshop was a welcome feeling that had grown rarer and rarer as his project progressed. Or more accurately, had not progressed. 

The arrival of thoughts of his failures almost caused Jean to turn and begin his return back to his fruitless efforts. Almost, until his nose caught the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the bakery not too far from where he was standing. As if begging for it, his stomach let out a loud grumble, a reminder that Jean hadn’t been eating much in the past two weeks. His heart was too full of worry to be able to stomach much, but the bread smelled so inviting.

The bakery was humble, and many people of Jean’s stature would die before eating anything baked in it. At one point Jean might have been like them, but days of hunger piled up on his pride and he succumbed to the pain and churning in his gut. 

Upon entering the small bakery, Jean found the object of his desires. Freshly baked rye bread was being sold over the counter to the large line of people that apparently had the same thing on their minds. Jean normally never went out to get his own food because he was so accustomed to having servants to do that for him. Honestly, he much prefered rye bread over the bland white bread that he was always brought, and, even though his mother would scold him if she saw him in such a place, he was glad he had come in. 

Jean quickly got in line before the man who had walked in after him could take his place. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but there was only so much fresh bread and he wanted it, he wanted it bad. He was confused when the old man, who he was afraid of cutting in front of him, stayed by the door. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. His only problem was bread. And, well, the ten ton block of marble waiting for him when he got home of course. 

“That’ll be 2,500 lire.” The man behind the counter told the customer in front of Jean. He pulled out his money pouch and pulled out the lire he would need to get his bread fix. 

“Mister Ramone, I’m glad to see you well!” a deep voice called out from behind the counter. “I brought the bread for the church.” The man it belonged to walked out and towards the door where the old man from before was standing, carrying a parcel of bread so large it took both arms. Jean hadn’t noticed him before, having been too preoccupied with filling his stomach. 

But how had he not noticed him? Jean had to forcibly stop himself from gaping at the young man before him. The first thing Jean noticed was his smile; it was blinding, and Jean was sure he had never seen so much genuine happiness and purity in the face of a human being before. He had soft brown eyes, that looked down at the old man before him with gentleness. His dark black hair was parted down the middle with short bangs framing his temple. The man’s cheeks were dusted with a dozen small freckles which continued on down his neck, into his tunic, and across his arms. The arms that were holding the massive parcel of bread, his muscles slightly straining, trying to keep the bundle together. His muscles weren’t like the muscles of the artists and priests that Jean was used to seeing. They were the muscles of a common man who had to work to survive, but they were so much more beautiful that way. His skin was lightly tanned from the light of the sun, probably adding to the freckles. Jean noticed there were also freckles on his legs, which were toned like that of one of the race runners Jean had had the pleasure of watching when he was younger. Jean turned his attention back to the young man’s face, and noticed his strong jawline and high cheekbones, making him entirely too handsome for Jean to believe that he was just a commoner and not some prince of a faraway land, destined for greatness. He looked like an adonis, and so beautifully angelic that Jean wished he could seal his image like this forever. 

After having been stuck in a tunnel for two weeks, it was in a small bakery, surrounded by peasants, that Jean Kirstein could see the light.


End file.
